Growing up, my family always had a corner of the garage reserved for sports equipment. Nothing was new; it was mostly a conglomeration of hand-me-downs that family members had used throughout the years (the majority of it would be considered antiques by today’s standards).
I remember a pair of wooden tennis racquets, a few baseball bats, an old football that was slightly warped, and a tattered basketball that had zero grip due to the smoothly worn leather. There were also two golf clubs: one steel-shafted Nancy Lopez signature 7-iron and one ancient hickory-shafted club that was likely a 2- or a 3-iron.
I utilized most of that equipment — except the golf clubs. My father used to force me to watch PGA golf on television and repeatedly told me that golf was the sport I should focus on because, “Even if you finish in last place, you still make money.”
However, golf was the least interesting sport as far as I was concerned. At some point, I remember pulling out the 7-iron and trying to hit a few balls (golf balls were hard to come by at the time, so I had to be very careful where I hit them). I guess the combination of how hard it was to hit a golf ball combined with the fact that I had limited balls to practice with, did nothing to further my interest.
It wasn’t until years later when I was in high school that I joined my father and two brothers for my first round of golf. We went to a local 9-hole course that was known to be a hacker’s paradise. I stepped onto the first tee box and swung wildly and by some crazy stroke of luck, I launched the ball respectably into the air and down the middle of the fairway.
I’ve been hooked on the sport ever since.
The excitement of that first drive and the fun I had during that round jettisoned me into a grand and unending love of the game. I started to buy golf instructional books and watch tournaments on TV each weekend. In my spare time I frequented driving ranges, chipped in my front yard, and practiced putting in my living room.
However, outside of a week at a mediocre Florida golf school, I have never taken a lesson. I admit this with a certain level of shame because I should have taken lessons and learned how to play correctly from the beginning. Instead, I went with the self-directed method and have subsequently struggled for decades.
Instead of learning correctly and developing functional muscle memory, I reinforced multiple self-inflicted bad habits that I continue to fight to this day.
However, I still have an immense amount of knowledge about the game, its history, and the mechanics of the golf swing, which, at the very least, allows me to self-correct when things get out of whack.
This past weekend, my sister-in-law called and told me her 22-year-old son wanted to get into golf and wondered if I would be willing to help him pick out equipment. I agreed to accompany him to a golf center so I could analyze his swing and work with the store instructors to set him up with clubs and lessons.
My nephew told me he had only been on a golf course twice. When I saw his swing, I knew he wasn’t lying.
I had him hit a few shots with a 7-iron and then a driver. Then I pulled the store employee over and asked him his thoughts.
He took one look and said, “He needs a starter set. Anything more would be a waste of money.”
I agreed and headed over to the lower end models and picked out a set that came with every club including a putter, driver, and a bag. We then got a pair of respectable golf cleats, a pair of inexpensive gloves, and a bag of pre-used golf balls.
I then made a plan with my nephew to meet me at my country club where I would bring him to the range in an attempt to give him the basics before he starts lessons. Stay tuned for details on that adventure in next week’s column.
This week’s feature is a throwback to the 1980s when I was making plans for life along with a group of Hollywood kids known as the “Brat Pack.” “St. Elmo’s Fire” is the quintessential coming-of-age story of a group of college friends who are looking to make their mark on the world.
I haven’t watched this film since its release in 1985 (where it was panned by critics but became a box office smash). The styles, attitudes, music, and vibe are exemplary examples of the ‘80s and will provide immense nostalgia for anyone who was there.
If the ‘80s are foreign to you, consider giving this film a try if only to confirm that kids are the same no matter what generation they are from.
A brattish “B” for “St. Elmo’s Fire,” now available to stream on Amazon Prime Video.
Got a question or comment for Dom? You can email him at moviediary@att.net.
